Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill are the creators of League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen. But, for Bleeding Cool owner Avatar Press, they are starting something new.
Cinema Purgatorio, a horror anthology comic book including their work and the work of their friends, including Max Brooks, Kieron Gillen, Christos Gage and more.
The lead strip of Cinema Purgatorio is by Moore and O'Neill
This ongoing monthly series will feature Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill in every issue and is their first major new project together since League of Extraordinary Gentlemen! They take a trip through the dark recesses of cinema, the people behind it, the damage it has done, and the story of one woman forced to bare her soul, one short film at a time. Every issue and every story is radically different yet all weaved into one tapestry of breathtaking complexity as only Alan Moore could do.
Other strips include
Kieron Gillen and Ignacio Calero on Modded – a dystopian future where enhanced monsters and daemons are pitted against each other, with a goal of catching them all!
Garth Ennis and Raulo Caceres continue Code Pru – the two issue series leads directly into the ongoing tale of the night shift FDNY paramedic Pru as she learns about the beastly NY City underworld… and how to offer them medical assistance!
Christos Gage and Gabriel Andrade bring a new kind of giant monster story to life withThe Vast! A war that humanity is losing seems never ending. Until one woman discovers a monster that will fight to protect her!
Max Brooks (World War Z) and Michael DiPascale bring Max's heavily-researched and period-authentic story of the Civil War to life in A More Perfect Union. But this time, the South has been invaded by Giant Insects! Written as only Max Brooks can, taking no detail for granted and treating everything realistically.
Why do I get the feeling that this might do very well indeed? And the comic will launch with a limited edition later this month at the London Super Comic Con. Which I am going to…
Alan Moore writes,
In a world of used ideas spun out into unending single-premise sagas and told in full cyber-enhanced Technicolor, unapologetically we offer up CINEMA PURGATORIO, a black and white horror anthology which reaches for something both new and startling beyond the endlessly recycled characters and concepts of the 60s and the 70s. An anthology, to let its authors exercise the discipline and the invention that only short stories can provide – and out of which the vast majority of today's memorable franchises were created – and black and white in order to impose that selfsame discipline upon its artists by removing the alluring camouflage of colour and requiring the same values that the classic comic illustrators made their byword. Why shouldn't the 21st century enjoy the craft and quality that the E.C. and Warren luminaries managed, but with an originality and freshness born entirely of our anxious present and uncertain future? Why shouldn't the world once more have horror stories which compel their audience to tremulously tell themselves "It's just a movie; just a film"?
CINEMA PURGATORIO is an unholy resurrection of the backstreet bug-hutches and fleapits practicing their eerie silver mesmerism on our post-war predecessors, drenched in atmosphere and other less identifiable decoctions. The threadbare arenas to a generation's adolescent fumblings and upholstery-slashing rage alike, these peeling Deco temples were the haunted, flickering spaces where were bred the dreads and the desires of those Macmillan days; Eisenhower nights. Varnished with blood and Brylcreem, in our razor-collared cutting edge collection we restore the broken-bulb emporiums where, in the creaking backseats, modern terror and monstrosity were shamelessly conceived. In our worn aisles and glossy pages the most individual and inventive talents in contemporary comics are delivering a landmark midnight matinee in monochrome, intent on pushing both the genre and the medium beyond their stagnant formulas and into shapes that suit the unique shadows and disquiets of our present moment.
Take your curling ticket from the withered and embittered woman in the booth, regard uneasily the lobby cards for movies recalled vaguely from a clammy dream, then, if you dare, follow the failing flashlight-puddle of the usherette on down into a different kind of dark.